


To Here Knows When

by twoam



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Frottage, Getting Together, King Alistair (Dragon Age), Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Pining Character Throws Themselves Between Crush and Lethal Danger, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoam/pseuds/twoam
Summary: The proposal Zevran gives to Alistair on the battlements of Denerim Castle is not the one he was secretly hoping for, but it's one he'll take if it keeps Zevran by his side.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56
Collections: pine4pine 2020





	To Here Knows When

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrospecial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/gifts).



Looking out over Denerim from the battlements really gave him a sense of scale of the task ahead. Also that the task was now, undoubtedly, his. Whose idea was this again? 

Oh, it was his idea. Maker help him, he shouldn't have agreed to it. With a sigh Alistair leaned over the edge of the battlement, looked down at the courtyard below him, filled with servants all ready to serve him. He was now the king and it was terrifying. Despite his hope that someone would intervene to stop it, nobody had and now there was no more Blight, no more excuses. He was going to have to rule Ferelden.

Another matter hung heavier on him than the crown did. With the Blight over, the party was splitting up and parting ways. Zevran would be leaving now that his debt was paid off. Nothing would be keeping him in Ferelden, or more to the point, in Denerim by his side. Zevran's impending departure sat heavily in his heart. It was impossible to air out, unlike his concerns about being king. Everyone already knew he didn't want to be king.

They didn't know about how he felt about Zevran. He wanted to keep it that way.

He could still remember the exact moment when he started to fall for him, when his feelings started their shift from annoyance and distrust to attraction. It was the second night after Zevran joined the party. He was standing by his tent, trying to stop Dog giving him those puppy dog eyes to get a treat out of him. If Zevran hadn't appeared at that exact moment, Dog might have succeeded. 

Instead he found Zevran giving him...not exactly puppy dog eyes. They didn't really work when he already knew he was an assassin. But it was a beseeching look, aimed directly at him after a glance around to make sure nobody else was paying attention to them. 

"Alistair, I must ask you a question."

"Oh, this should be good." Whatever Zevran was about to ask him, it was very suspicious. The look he gave him, his arms crossed and a tilt of his shoulders to convey exactly how much he didn't trust him after he'd nearly killed him, didn't put Zevran off in the slightest.

"I realise this is unusual, but are you any good at picking locks?" 

"Lock picking? I was a trainee Templar. You can't be serious," the look on Zevran's face said he was, still beseeching, no hint of a joke. "You're an assassin! Assassins are supposed to be able to pick locks." 

"You see, there was a little mix up when the Warden asked me about it. Nothing serious, of course, but I thought I should check…" Alistair's eyes widened. Even he could read between the lines and realise that Zevran, despite offering it as a skill to save his own skin, could not, in fact, pick locks. A snort escaped him, before the realisation that not only could Zevran not do it, but was asking him, of all people, made him break out into laughter. Loud, obnoxious laughter that immediately drew the attention of Leliana.

"What's going on? Is something funny?" Alistair struggled to stop laughing, finally managed to wheeze out a few breaths.

"It's just-" Zevran slapped his hand over Alistair's mouth, gave him a glare that told him to shut up and not to out him to Leliana, who certainly could pick locks and might have even been willing to teach him. His professional pride prevented him from asking. He didn't want to rely on a failed bard when he was a Crow. The glare might have been intimidating, if Zevran hadn't already failed to kill him once already. If he wasn't asking him for help. 

If his hand on his face, brushing against his cheek, his arm pulling him up tight against Zevran's side, so he could whisper a quick threat before he replied to Leliana that everything was fine, just sharing a couple of jokes together, hadn't send that first tremor of longing down his spine. When Zevran dropped his hand he hadn't pulled back, and Alistair started as he planned to go on, by ignoring how much he liked being pressed up against Zevran's side.

"Yes, funny joke. It was about a Sister." Leliana looked even more suspicious but didn't ask any further questions. It was enough to draw a small sigh of relief from Zevran before he finally let him go. 

That was the moment it started, when he realised he missed Zevran's touch after it was gone. Alistair wasn't that physically demonstrative by nature, didn't tend to feel strongly about it one way or another. Even as he'd immediately ignored it to go into his tent, away from the source of his new unease, it was already starting to grow.

Since then it'd grown and grown. At first he tried just ignoring it. That had sort of worked, apart from whenever Zevran got too close to him, or leaned in to grab something near him and he'd nearly fall over scrambling to get away, too worried about giving himself away. 

When that didn't work, he started denying it instead. He was definitely not attracted to Zevran, not even when Alistair had to take his shirt off to help patch up an injury. He absolutely did not want to touch his skin, or run his fingers along those shockingly well defined abs, or feel his fingers in those long flowing blonde locks. 

The wound successfully healed. Alistair's denial didn't. At that point, there was nothing else for it. He couldn't ignore or deny it. He just had to acknowledge them and then suppress his feelings harder than he'd ever suppressed anything before. There was no chance that Zevran, as handsome, experienced and worldly as he was, would be interested in someone inexperienced and who'd only narrowly avoided becoming a Templar. Even if he didn't get immediately rejected, which he would be, he had no idea how he'd go about trying to seduce Zevran. Even the briefest glance flustered him, when his wishful thinking made it feel like Zevran might be considering him as anything more than as a convenient meat shield. 

The sound of the door to the battlements opening startled him out of his thoughts. If they were using the door, it was most likely not someone about to try to kill him. That was a good start. Although, from the way he caught Zevran mid-stretch as he turned to see who it was, saw just a tiny sliver of bare skin peeking out from under his shirt as it rode up, he could have possibly killed him anyway. 

"Ah, so here you are. I thought you would be hiding like this." The thought of Zevran looking for him, taking the time to do it when he was getting ready to leave, made him flush as much as the indignity of the immediate and correct assessment of what he was doing up there. 

"I am not hiding! I'm just surveying my realm," his voice sounded a little squeaky, in a way that made Zevran raise an eyebrow as he joined Alistair, his back against the stonework of the parapet to keep facing Alistair. "Is it that obvious?" He shouldn't have asked about things being obvious. He wasn't suppressing his feelings well enough to like any possible answer.

"Of course, but I am an expert on human nature. It comes with the territory." Alistair nodded in a manner that he hoped was sage but probably wasn't. As if he wasn't having trouble focusing when Zevran was watching him with those beautiful, brown, dangerously smart eyes. Dangerous enough that it forced Alistair to pull his eyes away and look back over the dull roofs of Denerim. They were much easier to focus on, gave him the time to remember how to use his voice properly again and not come out all squeaky. 

"So, you're leaving soon?" 

"Mm, about that. I have a proposition for you, if I may." Alistair's heart stirred for a moment, in the hope, the anticipation that it might be the other kind of proposition, before it bounced back down to reality. It wouldn't be that. It didn't stop his sidewards glance to Zevran, the moment he caught that look that would be flirtatious if it wasn't aimed at him. Just how they conducted business in Antiva, nothing more. 

"Go on." 

"Kings are very good business for assassins. A new king picked in such an unusual set of circumstances is bound to gain a few enemies, no?" The laugh that followed could have been charming, if it wasn't so closely tied to how people wanting him dead for something that he didn't even want. "You'll need someone to guard you. There are the royal guards, of course, but such men are easily turned by coin." Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands. Of course he knew that! Maker help him. 

"Are you trying to make me more paranoid, because if so, you're doing a great job."

"Perhaps just a little." Even as Zevran pushed himself closer to Alistair, closer than he'd dared to get to him recently, Alistair looked up to him with a glare. He felt like he was being had. 

"Of course, that's good business for you." Zevran flashed a grin in reply that he couldn't resist, leaned in closer. Whatever proposition he was about to be offered, he was going to accept it. He already knew it. Alistair just hoped Zevran hadn't twigged that yet. 

"Exactly! They say to catch a thief, you should set a thief, and why not the same for assassins?" Just the slightest tilt of his head, blonde hair cascading down his shoulders. He was doomed. 

"Why are you doing this?" He expected Zevran to want to leave, to return home and finish his business with the Crows. Zevran wanting to stay to work for him was both what he wanted and incredibly suspicious. Zevran paused, took a thoughtful breath before leaning back. 

"It would be much safer for me than waiting around for the Crows to find out that I am not dead. Nobody will think to look for me here. Also, a new king needs allies, and allies he can trust." Alistair could ask if he could trust Zevran, but already knew the answer. If Zevran still wanted him dead, there had been plenty of chances to kill him. He hadn't. It was good enough for him. "Our leader is off to his new keep soon, and everyone else is departing. Your naivety of politics is refreshing, but it also tends to end up leaving a king dead. Let someone who's used to its cut and thrust help you."

It would have been a convincing argument even if he wasn't in love with Zevran. Alistair knew he wasn't prepared for the cut and thrust of politics, even with Ferelden politics being less...murdery than in Antiva. Someone like Zevran would be essential to keeping him safely on the throne and not dead in a ditch instead. 

With the sun shining off Zevran's hair, blown about by the wind as he gave him that charming smile again, he wasn't thinking logically. He wanted Zevran to stay and he was just handed his opportunity to make it happen. Of course he said yes.

* * *

Saying yes was the easy part. Despite the fact that Zevran had agreed, no, Zevran had offered to stay and guard him, there was a part of him that still felt guilty about keeping Zevran here with him. Felt guilty about how much he wanted to touch him, to kiss that spot just under his ear that his hand touched when he brushed his hair back from his neck and drew all his attention to it. 

It wasn't the first time he'd felt guilty about Zevran helping him. There was the time when he'd drunk too much at the inn and Zevran ended up pulling the short straw to put him to bed. At the time it'd been amusing, with how the corridor wobbled and swayed as he leaned on Zevran more than he really needed to as he guided him along. 

"Alistair, my friend, you really need to learn to handle your drink. How will you save the world if some cut-throat takes the opportunity to kill you like this?"

"What, like you?" The retort made Zevran laugh, the sound of it travelling down his spine even as his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. It made him lean closer on Zevran, as dangerous as that was. 

"Exactly like me! See, you are learning already." 

"Are you going to take advantage of me?" Too late to take it back once it was out. 

"No, unless, of course, you want me to, in which case it is hardly taking advantage at all." In his drunken state, Alistair had almost taken it as flirting instead of the teasing it clearly was, considering it was aimed at him. Despite the warmth in his cheeks he'd nearly taken the bait, agreed that it wouldn't be taking advantage when he wanted Zevran so badly and was drunk enough to act on it. Instead he stayed silent and so Zevran had pushed him into his room with a cheery 'good night' and gone back to the drinking.

The next morning he was torn between relief that he hadn't humiliated himself, and regret that he hadn't taken Zevran up on his offer. There was the guilt too, that Zevran was forced to remove himself from an evening he was enjoying to help his drunken ass get back to his room. He'd foolishly thought that night was the worst it was going to get.

He was wrong. Now Zevran was following him like he was his shadow. Alistair couldn't always see him, but he could feel his presence nearby, waiting. It was great, in he was always there. It was terrible, in that he was always there, but not in the way he wanted him there.

* * *

The invitation was placed in front of Alistair as he finished his breakfast and pushed his plate aside to read it. There was nothing unusual about the invitation itself, he was very popular now. What was unusual was the expression of his courtiers as they watched him pick the invitation up. They looked nervous. That made him nervous too. 

"Who are these people?" The names as he read them weren't familiar, though they'd at least had the courtesy to put that they were a group of leading merchants at the start of the invite. 

"They're merchants, your majesty."

"Yes, I can read. Who are these merchants?" The silence grew unnervingly, until a hand reached over from behind his shoulder and picked the invite out of his hands. 

"You should be careful. They were big supporters of Loghain until the tide turned against him at the Landsmeet, your majesty."

"Can you just call me Alistair? It gives me the creeps when you call me 'your majesty'." It reminded him of just how much of a gap there was between them now too. Zevran slipped out of his shadow, looking amused by his correction.

"They've sworn allegiance to the Crown, your majesty. It'd look like favouritism to refuse them." People did change their minds, especially with money involved, but there was that expression in Zevran's eyes again as the courtier spoke. He was starting to grow familiar with it, a signal that Zevran had information that he wasn't going to share in front of his flunkies. Alistair didn't object, he didn't entirely trust them either. 

"I guess I have to go, then. Tell them I accept." Alistair pushed his chair back, gestured for Zevran to follow him as the courtiers bowed and he left the room. Zevran matched his steps as they walked back to his quarters, a much safer place to talk than in front of the court. 

"That was very regal of you." He could hear the grin in Zevran's voice before he saw it on his face. 

"Oh, shut it."

"I mean it! Though my experience with monarchs is mostly limited to them begging to be spared."

"That's hardly a high bar to clear. Anyway, what do you know?" Zevran moved in front of him and turned to walk backwards, facing him. It was showing off that he knew this hallway well enough to do it and not trip over a suit of armour. It shouldn't have been charming. Despite that, Alistair was charmed by it. 

"I have heard these merchants are in contact with those who want to put Anora on the throne. Most of them are turncoats who'll follow whoever is King, but their leader did truly like Loghain and let's say," Zevran paused, tapped his cheek for dramatic effect as if Alistair couldn't guess what he was going to say. "He does not like you so much. If you got rid of her, this would solve many of your problems."

"I'm not executing her."

"Who said anything about an execution?" Alistair stopped dead, gave Zevran a severe look as he did. Zevran stopped too, gave Alistair an expectant look like he wasn't saying something he knew Alistair wouldn't approve of. It wasn't right to do it now, not so long after the Landsmeet, not when she was his prisoner.

"I'm not doing that either." 

"Your honour is touching, but she won't return the favour. She is as ruthless as her father."

"Enough. If it comes to that I'll do it myself." He could see it in Zevran's eyes, that he thought he was being a fool. Maybe he was, but he stood by it. "So, this banquet. It's going to be an ambush, isn't it?" 

"Of course. I have a plan..."

* * *

The banquet hall was impressively turned out. There were lots of fancy wall-hangings of hunting and Mabaris, which Alistair was looking at instead of the other guests who probably wanted him dead. The Mabaris hounding their prey had a direct honesty to them that in his current circumstances he respected. 

"Your majesty." The soft, low voice next to him made him look up into the face of the elven server who'd appeared next to him. He expected to see a stranger but despite the disguise he recognised Zevran as soon as their eyes met. He glanced back down, afraid of his eyes giving himself away as well as Zevran away. The hands holding onto the bowl before placing it down next to him, the dipping water for his fingers, were familiar even with the plain gloves on them. He'd spent far too long thinking about them touching him to not recognise them. 

He dipped his fingers in the water, rubbed his fingertips and pulled them out. The whole time he wanted to look at Zevran, an impulse even more dangerous than it usually was. It'd give the ruse away if they caught him making eyes at an elven servant, they'd put two and two together, get four and try to kill both of them. Instead he desperately ignored Zevran, tried to listen to the very boring story being told to him by the man sitting next to him. He strained to hear Zevran's footsteps fade away and tried to not feel exposed when they vanished. He had to trust in whatever switch Zevran was making in the kitchens, but Maker, he wished he had Zevran right next to him instead, both out of love and a desire for his protection. It was easier being the meat shield when there was someone close by to stab people in the back as needed.

Every magnificent dish, every part of each course, was brought to him by Zevran. Each time he had to ignore him, act like he was invisible, felt harder and harder until they reached the cheese course. Even the cheese, which looked amazing, couldn't distract him from the fact that Zevran was right there, his hand brushing against his for just for a moment as he laid out his board. Alistair felt his heart leap into his mouth, before forcing himself to look up from his plate and instead across the room as a distraction, to not look at Zevran. 

Oh, hello. Those were some very confused faces looking back at him. He wondered if he'd done something particularly gauche for a second, before dismissing it. No, it wasn't that kind of disapproval. No, it looked like the food supposed to be poisoned, and they were wondering why he hadn't keeled over yet.

"You know, one good thing about being king is that it's really difficult to poison me." He heard the heavy sigh behind him, Zevran's exasperation at him not being able to resist blurting out the first thought on his mind. It wasn't his fault! He'd been working very hard at restraining himself right until now, and at least it was something unimportant like revealing that he knew they were trying to kill him. Their leader leapt onto his feet, knocking his chair to the ground as Alistair grabbed the hilt of his sword, ready for the inevitable attack. At least this was something he was good at. 

"Now!" Alistair rose from his seat, pushed over the table in front of him to distract the men and give himself room to work with – he'd mourn the loss of the cheese later – and drew his sword. The men next to him might have been distracted by the loss of cheese, or maybe they just weren't as practised as he was at killing stuff. They weren't a problem for much longer as he cut them down and the banquet hall dissolved into the chaos of an ambush, with his guards deciding to take his side. Alistair felt a bump against his back, looked over his shoulder to see Zevran covering his back. A brief glance upwards from Zevran, a nod to say he didn't need to worry, before turning and stabbing someone in the back.

Oh, it felt like old times. This was much more his speed than banquets. It felt right to be fighting with Zevran at his back again, both protecting each other. Another merchant lunged at him and Alistair caught him easily. He swung down, sent him flying and turned on instinct to Zevran's direction. Zevran wasn't looking, hadn't seen how easily he'd sent the merchant off, and it would have been disappointing if there was a bigger problem that Zevran was focusing on. 

The leader of this impromptu rebellion was only a few steps away from them. Alistair saw the blade and its sinister green tint, the bend of his knee as he moved to lunge at him. No, he realised as the leader pushed himself up off his foot. He was going for Zevran first to cut him down to get to him.

It was a split second decision but Alistair didn't hesitate. He knew Zevran would take the blow as his guard. Alistair would do anything to make sure he didn't and survived instead. It was as simple as that. He caught Zevran with his elbow, and hoped he would forgive him as he shoved him away. The shove was hard enough to push Zevran aside, putting himself in the way instead as the leader lunged forward with the blade aimed at his stomach. 

If he'd been wearing armour, it wouldn't have pierced it. Being a banquet in during what was supposed to be peace, Alistair wasn't. Being stabbed hurt more than he remembered it hurting, and this one stung in a deeply unpleasant manner that suggested the blade was poisoned too. There was, for a moment, a look of deep satisfaction on the leader's face until his head and the blade piercing him were pulled back as Zevran stabbed his attacker, before dropping him to the ground. 

That was reassuring, as the world tipped and wobbled and he dropped onto his knees. It was a fast acting poison. Crap. The poison and the pain from his stab wound mixed together, deafening him and drowning out everything else until he felt arms around him. The voice he loved most, calling out his name as Zevran cradled him. 

If he wasn't dying, he have could enjoyed being held by Zevran like this. As it was, Alistair was in too much pain and the dark spots growing in his vision stopped him from seeing Zevran clearly either. It would have been nice, to see him one last time before he died. There was one thing he could do, that he had to do before he died. He'd waited too long, worried so much about things that didn't matter now as he was dying in Zevran's arms. It hurt to get the words out, his voice struggling to get out of his throat, but he had to say it.

"Zevran. I love you." 

Even with the physical struggle to get his words out, it was easier than every time he'd struggled with his feelings before. He couldn't make out the words Zevran said in reply, could just about feel Zevran pulling up his shirt, trying to stem his bleeding. He should try to hang on, but he felt the call. The sense of peace washing over him was irresistible, as it swept the pain and nausea away. He let go.

* * *

It started to come back. The light was bright and it hurt his eyes as he opened them. The thumping, sore ache of his body and head made him wonder if he was, by some miracle, still alive. 

It didn't look like he was in the Fade. In fact, as his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light, it looked a lot like he was in his chambers in the castle. The taupe coloured blur in the distance shifted back into that ugly tapestry that he was going to replace someday. Alistair was certain that it wouldn't stalk him to the next life, which suggested, along with how much everything hurt, that he was alive. 

The relief flooded through him. He was alive! Even with how much he hurt all over, he was alive and it felt fantastic. Alistair shut his eyes again to sink into the sensation of breathing, of his heart pumping blood around his body. Gloriously, thankfully alive. 

There was a knock on the door, and a voice called out from inside the room, close to where he was lying in the bed.

"Enter."

Oh. Oh no. It was Zevran giving permission to enter the room. Zevran, who he'd confessed to when he was dying. Alistair remembered how simple it'd seemed then and felt something curl up inside him with embarrassment. It was almost impressive how he could manage to be so stupid, even when he was dying. Of course it was easy to be noble and brave when he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of it. 

He would have to go back to his old strategies to avoid the consequences. If he just ignored it, denied it for long enough, pretended that he didn't remember saying anything before falling unconscious, he could get away with it. Alistair would successfully avoid having that awkward conversation where Zevran would reject him and then leave him for good.

Even in his emotional crisis, the world carried on. He heard the soft voice of the healer checking on him, the detailed, probing questions Zevran was asking the healer as if he'd hold her personally responsible if he died. With his head still swimming from both the after effects of the poison and the realisation he'd made a terribly timed love confession that he had lived to regret, he only caught some of the conversation.

It was enough to get the important details. He'd been unconscious for days, the antidote was enough to stop him dying but his recovery was so slow that everyone was worried. Even Zevran was, from the concern in his voice. He might not be able to grasp full sentences but the tone was unmistakable. It was a rare occasion when Zevran sounded concerned, and even rarer that he was concerned about him. It felt good, even if he wasn't going to have long to enjoy it.

The door shut, and Zevran let out a sigh.

"I know you are awake. You are terrible at faking sleep." Alistair winced, guiltily opened up one eye to see Zevran standing by the bed and staring at him. It was intimidating, especially with how annoyed Zevran looked. "You realise he wouldn't have killed me, yes? I'm offended that you think he could. There was no need for your heroics." The lecturing tone made him wince, forcing a sheepish, wobbly smile onto his face to try to appease Zevran.

"Sorry." His voice cracked from disuse. Zevran shook his head and moved away from Alistair's side over to the open window. A breeze blew Zevran's hair back as he leaned out of it, his face hidden from Alistair's eyes. Despite knowing better, that if he was going to try to walk back his confession he shouldn't get caught staring, Alistair opened his other eye and slowly lifted himself upright enough to sit up in the bed. 

"Guards are supposed to protect their clients. I know you know this, and yet you decide that yes, it is worth causing another civil war to jump in front of a blade meant for me." Zevran paused, inhaled deeply as he leaned further out of the window, pushing up on the front of his feet, arching his feet before falling back on his heels. "Also, you made me look terrible at my job. I am supposed to stop you being injured, and instead you nearly died. You know what I got because you nearly got yourself killed? A hectoring letter from the Warden-Commander. He is not happy with me, let me tell you." 

"Ah." Alistair could imagine it. His fellow Warden wasn't one to hold back on criticism.

"Lots of 'I thought I could rely on you to stop anything like this, I don't want to deal with another civil war, I am very busy, if you can't guard him properly then I'll send someone who can.' He even threatened to send Howe to replace me." 

"He can't do that. I'm the king, not him." Zevran's back straightened up at the words, before turning back to Alistair. This time he looked amused as well as the residual annoyance at Alistair for nearly dying. 

"It's good to hear you act like a king. The healer left that for you to drink." Alistair turned to look where Zevran gestured, carefully picked up the potion with shaky hands. It smelt disgusting, but usually the worse these things tasted, the more effective they were. Alistair slowly drunk it with a wince, could feel its healing effect spreading through his body even as he struggled with the taste. 

Zevran was silent as he drank, back turned to him again as he looked out of the window. With the aching of his body starting to ebb, Alistair could reflect on the silence without his thumping headache interrupting his thoughts. It didn't feel like Zevran was about to confront him and force the truth out. Not that it was Zevran's style, he preferred to ease the truth out of people by whatever means worked instead. It didn't feel like Zevran was going to do that either. The silence grew and weighed on him even as his body felt lighter and better. Zevran was thinking. The silence made him feel that he wouldn't like the conclusion of it.

When he finally turned back to him, the bright light from the window behind him obscured his face for a moment. By the time his eyes adjusted to it, Zevran's expression was closed off, inscrutable. Alistair didn't like it. It'd been a long time since he'd seen that expression. He didn't realise how used he'd got to Zevran being open with him, as much as he was open with anyone. 

"I will leave you now." A slight bow, a formality that Zevran never bothered with before, and he walked towards the door. Something in the set of his shoulders said if Alistair let him walk out now, he'd never see him again. An echo of a past abandonment in his memories, too distant to recall but not so distant it didn't hurt.

He couldn't let Zevran walk out. He was afraid but he wouldn't get a second chance. 

"I meant it." His voice was still rough and hurt his throat but it was too important to leave it unsaid. "I love you. Don't go." Zevran stopped immediately, shut his eyes before putting a hand on his forehead and inhaling deeply through his nose. He didn't look calm or composed. He looked like he was struggling as much as Alistair was, and there was a hint of red in Zevran's cheeks he'd never seen before. A blush. Zevran, so smooth and wordly, was blushing. 

"I think this is very unwise." It wasn't the rejection Alistair expected. It was something else, it was probably true too, but it wasn't a rejection. Was it possible? All this time he'd been longing for Zevran, ignoring then denying then repressing it, he thought it was impossible. But from the struggle on Zevran's face, it sent a spark of hope through him. Did Zevran love him too? 

"Are you in love with me?" It came out blunter than he meant it to and made Zevran bristle from being put on the spot. He flashed him a look that was part embarrassment and part resentment at catching him out. It might have made him back off, once, but it didn't now. Not after his near death experience, not with the memory of previous losses lingering in the back of his mind. It was now or never. "It's just that I nearly did just die to protect you, so maybe I'm entitled to know if you feel the same..."

Zevran turned on his heel, looked infuriated as he walked towards the bed, his footsteps speeding up as he reached him. For a moment, as Zevran jumped onto the bed, he expected to get a punch. Instead Zevran grabbed his face, pulled him in and kissed him. 

He froze. His brain couldn't handle the shock of Zevran kissing him. The demanding, warm press of his lips against his own wiped out every thought apart from Zevran was kissing him. It was a miracle he was still breathing. 

Then it finally dropped. Zevran was kissing him! He'd asked him if he was in love with him and he'd responded by kissing him. It was the best response he could get and instead of enjoying it, he was sitting there letting Zevran kiss him like he didn't want it. He was an idiot and he had to do something before Zevran stopped. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he shifted and started to kiss him back. Alistair's hands didn't know where to go, his mouth didn't fully cooperate and he banged his teeth against Zevran's but he didn't stop. Neither did Zevran, even as he subtly re-angled the kiss to stop their teeth clashing again.

Instead he straddled Alistair and pressed down on him. The weight of Zevran's ass settled against his crotch made him so glad that the potion meant he was well enough to enjoy this, now that he'd remembered how to move and do things again. Zevran's hand dropped to his hands, guiding them to hold onto his hips before grinding down in a way that made him groan against his lips.

Zevran knew exactly what he was doing. Demanding more as he pulled the sheets down and off him without letting go of him. It should have been intimidating, if Zevran gave him the space for it. He didn't. Instead he pulled back from kissing him only to push him back flat onto the bed, still pressing down on top of him. He pushed his hips down purposefully onto his cock, looking incredibly smug at how flushed Alistair was under him and how hard he was getting against his ass.

"Do you think we're rushing this?" His voice sounded too heated for that to be convincing, he'd been thinking of touching Zevran like this for too long to want to stop touching him now. Zevran leaned in against his neck, kissed it before letting out a soft hum against the neck.

"Mmm. From how hard you are, I do not think so." The words and the lust in Zevran's voice made all the blood that wasn't already rushing straight to his cock go there. "Try not to worry so much." Alistair found any response he could make cut off by Zevran kissing him, which was for the best. He could almost inevitably make this complicated later. 

Instead his hands moved carefully down from Zevran's hips. He hesitated for a moment, before moved down to squeeze his ass. A soft noise of surprise leaked into his mouth as Zevran rolled against his hands. Zevran's hands brushed over his waist, teased their way down to the dip of his hips before slowly working down his trousers. It was torturous how slowly Zevran worked, how badly his cock was aching to be touched and Zevran lingered everywhere but where he needed it. His cock twitched, desperate for attention, and Zevran ignored that again. It made him whine with a complete lack of dignity that still didn't make Zevran touch his cock even as it brought a soft laugh from him. 

Zevran pulled back instead, both from the kiss and his lap to look at him. Zevran's eyes were narrow, dilated, like a cat watching their prey, before he met Alistair's eyes with approval, pulling his own trousers down before pushing back down on Alistair again. With Zevran lying on top of him, his cock slick as it slid against his own, Alistair wondered for a moment if he had, in fact, died and was now in some very weird form of the afterlife where Zevran was willing to fuck him. Then Zevran's hand grabbed his own and wrapped both of them around their cocks and Alistair didn't think any further, pushed up against their hands and Zevran's cock with a moan. 

The warmth of Zevran's cock against his own, his hands jerking him as Zevran started to move on top of him, his other hand holding Zevran's ass tightly. Zevran was as skilled at this as he was everything else involving his hands (apart from lock picking), and it made him squirm against the mattress before he lifted his hips up to meet him. His hand around their cocks didn't move in time with Zevran's and bumped up against his knuckles instead, Zevran was just a little too short to kiss in this position, but it felt too good to worry about. Not with the hot, tight grasp of Zevran's calloused hand, the slickness of their cocks together as they rutted against each other. 

His hips buckled as he ground up against Zevran, his hand tight around them. Alistair was too close to coming to be embarrassed at how he was unable to last with Zevran on top of him, pressing down into him, making little breathy noises against him that were making his cock throb painfully against their hands as he fucked into them. A few more thrusts and he came with a gasp. He split over their fists, his cum splashing onto his stomach as Zevran kept relentlessly to the same pace. It was almost too much as he squirmed, his mind blank and overwhelmed. He nearly missed Zevran coming too, just caught the groan before he came all over their hands and Alistair's stomach too before collapsing on top of him.

It took a few minutes to catch his breath, come back down to find his hand resting on the small of Zevran's back, holding onto him. There was the warmth of his skin under his hand and the comfortable press of his weight on top of him. It was the closeness he'd wanted for so long, even as the embarrassment he'd managed to ignore when he was horny was starting to rear its head. The embarrassment was starting to bite when Zevran interrupted it, making a content noise as he scooted up his body to meet his eyes. Zevran didn't look embarrassed in the slightest. Instead he looked deeply pleased. 

"I have wanted to do this for a long time. Perhaps if you had not given me such mixed messages, we could have got here without you deciding to die for me on the way." It took Alistair a moment before it fully hit him what he was hearing. Zevran not only wanted him, but had wanted him for ages. His mind slowly flipped back, reconsidering his previous encounters with Zevran in the light of this new information. Suddenly, like light bursting through a break in the clouds, Zevran's coyness and teasing looked very different to before. 

"You were flirting with me?"

"Oh, constantly. But Ferelden is a very unromantic country, so I guess I should have known you did not realise." It was enough to make him groan in embarrassment. 

"So that time in the inn?" 

"Yes."

"And that time when I was cleaning up your wound?"

"Oh, yes." 

"I'm an idiot." 

"Absolutely!" Despite that, Zevran still looked amused, and another expression that Alistair hadn't seen before as he leaned in to kiss him again. He looked fond. "But your sincerity is part of your charm. I am not worth dying for, but I am touched that you were willing to. Still, I will ask you to leave it to me next time."

"I'm not letting you die." Zevran laughed again, he felt the soft rumble of it intimately against his chest. 

"Who said I'm dying? I would be a very bad assassin if I died." Zevran kissed him again, but this time as he pulled back, his expression was a little more vulnerable and less certain. It made Alistair's heart ache, and his arms tighten around him. "I realise that I have not answered your question, and yes, you are entitled to an answer," Zevran paused, swallowed, as if the words were difficult to get out. It was unusual for Zevran to struggle with words. It made Alistair wait patiently for them. "I love you too." 

The words made warmth spread inside him. His longing for Zevran wasn't hopeless like he'd thought for so long. It might have taken them a while to get there, but here they were. It made Alistair smile widely before he leaned in to kiss Zevran, his fingers carding into his hair, running through it like he'd wanted to do for so long. It was a thank you, a returning of the words they've both struggled to get out. 

It was one hell of a task ahead of him, ruling Ferelden, but at least he'd have Zevran at his side for it.


End file.
